Gone With The Wind
by our dancing days
Summary: In this story, there's no adventure, no dashing hero, but there is love. And maybe that's an adventure in itself. / JPLE, RLSB, MMPP. For the HPFC 'Rashamon' challenge.


**Title: **Gone With the Wind

**Summary: **In this story, there's no adventure, no dashing hero, but there _is _love. And maybe that's an adventure in itself. JPLE, RLSB, MMPP. For the HPFC 'Rashamon' challenge.

**Characters: **Lily Evans, James Potter, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew and Mary McDonald.

**Prompt: **A hat lost in the wind.

**Notes: **Ah! I just finished this, it's un-betaed, and I hope it's not too confusing. It's for the 'Rashamon' challenge (different, unreliable and conflicting points of view) at the HPFC forum. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

I'm going to tell you a story.

Well; I suppose that's a lie. I'll let other people tell this story, for once, because they're all ever so human, and ever so brave, that I think it's only right that they have the honour. After all, I'm just a voice inside your head.

This story... well, it's not a very exciting one. There's no adventure; no dashing hero, though James would be inclined to disagree.

But there's a group of children, on the brink of adulthood. And war. And friendship, and maybe even romance. Yes, it's a story of romance, if you wish to call it that; _young love, _if you want to be sentimental. Nevertheless, I think this story is really quite lovely, if you wanted to hear it.

It's a story quite unlike any other. It's unpredictable.

Beautiful.

They say that life is like a piano; the white keys represent happiness, whilst the black keys represent sadness. But as you go through life's journey, remember that even the black keys make music.

But I think that life is like a lot of things. It's like a summer day, or like a candle, or maybe even a hat, lost in the wind.

* * *

Lily Evans prides herself on being very organised; on the outside, that is. In reality, of course, she's down to one quill, one hair band, and one last brain cell with a bit of sense. Not that people (_James Potter_) will ever know that.

Therefore, she isn't exactly surprised when her hat, a lovely summer straw hat that doesn't belong with the rest of her wardrobe but that she loves all the same, blows away.

It's just a normal occurrence for Lily Evans.

"_Oh, _for Merlin's sake!" Lily cries, chasing after said hat. She flies through the courtyard, pushing through a crowd of second year Hufflepuff students, calling apologies back to them but never stopping.

She vaguely wonders why on earth a hat is flying this far, on a summer day without any wind, but doesn't really stop to think about it.

She chases it past the Whomping Willow - which, miraculously, decides to be a little more courteous this time and lets her pass with only one swipe at her head - and her breath catches when it lands, quietly, in front of a group of boys.

"Bugger."

The boy who is twirling the hat around his finger in interest looks up at her soft exclamation.

"This yours, Evans?" He asks, still twirling it expertly. _As though it's supposed to impress me_, she scoffs mentally. Because it doesn't. Not at all. Lily has _standards. _Standards that are far above the likes of James Potter.

She thinks.

Mary eventually stumbles to the scene, muttering something about having to heal a scratch on one of the Hufflepuff's arm. Wide-eyed, she looks from Lily, to the hat, to the group of boys, back to the hat, round at the courtyard where Lily can still hear a few of the second years' cries, and finally resting on the sky in a silent prayer.

"It is mine, actually, _Potter, _and I'd _much appreciate _it if you gave it back," Lily answers tightly, holding out her hand for the hat. Potter doesn't look at her. He exchanges a look with Black.

"It's not your usual style, Evans," he says conversationally.

"Well, it's not really any of your business, Potter, and I don't really see why you're so interested in my wardrobe, because it just poses quite a few unnecessary and rather revealing questions about-"

"I like it."

Lily, for once in her life, stops talking.

"I'm going to the kitchens," Remus tells them all casually, brushing down his trousers with the air of someone who is glad to have something to do and standing up. "Do you want to come too, Padfoot?"

Black, not sparing a glance at the rest of the group, nods eagerly. He lets Remus pull him up. Pettigrew raises his hand as though in class, but Remus cuts him off. "Wormtail, don't blow up the willow tree - _again. _Prongs, don't be a prat. We'll see you later."

Remus mutters something to Black that Lily doesn't hear, then nods at Potter as though it's a secret, silent code for something.

That something is probably, _"Good luck. You're going to need it. I'm abandoning you to your fate but don't be too disheartened." _Maybe. Lily isn't quite sure.

He smiles in Lily's direction, and she blinks rapidly. She genuinely likes Remus. Remus is the calmest of the Marauders, collected, and he pays attention in class and rolls his socks and doesn't despair too much over the fact he is always drawn into Potter and Black's pranks.

But right now, he is not on Lily's list of favourite people.

Mary lifts a hand to wave to Remus, but Lily tugs it back down slowly, her gaze not straying from the boy walking away.

"Ladies," Black smirks, tilting an imaginary hat to them and following his friend back to the castle. Mary goes to wave again, but Lily just shakes her head silently.

Mary puts her hand back down.

"It was my mother's," Lily tells Potter quietly, sitting down beside him. He stops twirling the hat.

She doesn't know what makes her say it. She usually would give some cutting, off-hand remark about Potter not knowing anything about fashion anyway, from the state of his hair and glasses, but she doesn't, for whatever reason.

Maybe it's a sign that she's finally lost her marbles along with her Gobstones set.

"I heard what happened," he replies slowly, looking as though he's thinking hard about what he's saying. "I'm very sorry."

"No you're not." She shakes her head at him, and plucks a blade of grass, rolling it between her fingers. "Boys like you don't feel sorry for girls like me." She pauses, eyes transfixed on the grass. "Boys like you don't feel sorry."

"Boys like me, huh?" He repeats, fingering the hat gently, turning it over and over like he used to do to that blasted Snitch. "My mum died in the holidays. The house was torched, and she didn't... understand what was happening. My dad couldn't save her in time. He's still in St. Mungo's."

"I'm sorry," Lily whispers. "I didn't know."

She wonders why he told her.

"Dumbledore made me promise to keep it all very hush-hush." Potter waves a hand, brushing off whatever comment Lily was going to say. "All irrelevant now. Besides, I don't mind you knowing."

"Thank you. I won't tell anyone." He nods.

"I won't tell either, if it helps," Mary comments from where she still hovers over them. "Peter, do you want to go back to the common room? I believe you still owe me a chess match, seeing as you so obviously cheated last time."

Pettigrew makes a few protests, smiling, but follows her back to the castle all the same.

"Evans-" Potter starts, but Lily stops him.

"Lily," she corrects, throwing down the blade of grass and lying down, squinting against the sunlight she isn't used to in England. "Call me Lily. It _is _my name, after all."

"Well, only if you call me James, then," Potter - _James - _insists with a smirk. She smiles back. "Lily, we're leaving soon. NEWTs are basically done with now, and we're going to be let loose on the world - Merlin knows how that'll turn out - and I just wondered if, maybe, I could - just one last time - ask-"

"Yes," Lily says.

"What?" James' eyes have widened comically behind his glasses. He stutters something else that Lily can't make out.

"_Yes, _I will go out with you," she repeats slowly, smirking in the sunlight.

"Well, that went well," James comments, lying down beside her and looking rather shell-shocked. "Can't say I saw it coming. Much like a rogue troll. Or a rampant broomstick. Or Sirius'-"

"Shut up, James."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Remus is usually a very collected person. By nature. Maybe. While his roommates are sure he rolls his socks every morning, in fact, he leaves them so haphazardly around the dorm room (they all just believe the socks are theirs, and naturally, don't bother in moving them) that the house elves dutifully roll them for him.

It's a very sound tradition.

And while it _seems _as though he keeps his trunk organised, it's actually his grandmother's, who has a severe bowel disease that - well. It's a self-cleaning trunk, at any rate.

Remus, on reflection, isn't really very collected at all.

He frets over Potions, even though he's stayed up until three in the morning checking over his homework - he only gets an A anyway - and constantly has little panic attacks whenever James and Sirius get that identical, mad, little gleam in their eyes that means detention for the next five weeks.

So when a missile-like straw hat comes flying towards them, Remus may seem cool and calm and collected, but on the inside he is planning all the ways that this missile-like straw hat could murder the four of them.

Needless to say, it keeps him busy for quite a few of the next minutes, and therefore, he misses at least half of the conversation.

When he looks up, though, Lily Evans is standing over them, mid-half-panicked-speech, and James is twirling said missile-like straw hat around his finger.

Remus tries very hard not to groan when James says, "I like it."

He likes Lily. Lily is sensible, and kind, and always seems to have a spare quill for Remus to borrow when one of his friends break his, in some funny joke or another. She's beautiful, smart, a good friend, a good study partner, and genuinely far too good for the likes of the Marauders.

Also, she isn't one of James or Sirius' fangirls, so her likability immediately goes up by a fair bit.

Nevertheless, Remus can't say that gormless is a very good look on her.

"I'm going to the kitchens," he says, just to fill the awkward silence and also because he _is _quite hungry, as Peter insisted they stayed out by the willow (not the Whomping one) for lunch.

He brushes down his trousers casually, whilst brushing off Sirius' hand, which was working its way up his thigh and sure to cause one of those not-so-collected reactions again. Sirius winks at him, but looks a bit put out.

"Do you want to come too, Padfoot?"

Sirius nods, and lets his hand linger when Remus pull him up. Remus relishes in the touch for a few sacred moments, then lets it go again.

"Wormtail, don't blow up the willow tree - _again._" Their poor tree hasn't been the same since, and James swears he still has nightmares about the smell. "Prongs, don't be a prat. We'll see you later." He turns to Sirius, who is waiting excitedly, looking eerily reminiscent of his animagus form.

"Love you, you stupid mutt," Remus mutters quietly, causing Sirius to beam at him. He turns to James, and nods, silently saying, _"Don't mess it up." _

He smiles at Lily, who still looks somewhat dumbstruck. He shrugs, and starts walking back to the castle, knowing he'll be followed.

"Ladies," he hears Sirius say, before he catches up and puts a friendly arm around his shoulder. Remus leans into it casually, hands in his pockets and back so straight you would've thought he had a broomstick shoved up his-

Anyway.

"You reckon Prongs charmed Evans' hat to fly over to us?" Sirius asks, nodding to a passing sixth year. Again, Remus shrugs.

"If he did, at least it's one of his more subtle methods. Hopefully Pete'll take the initiative and leave the two love-birds to it." Sirius raises an eyebrow. "Okay. Hopefully _McDonald _will take the initiative and maybe _then _they'll be love-birds."

"Right you are, Moony," Sirius nods, obviously appeased. Remus rolls his eyes. "So... up for a snog?"

"I'm not dignifying that with a response," Remus sniffs, though he most definitely is. All the time, in fact. Even in Dumbledore's office with morning breath, when Sirius has green hair and he has no nose.

Even then.

"It's okay, I'll just make one up. "_Why, yes, Mr Black, in fact, I'd like a shag very much. Do you think the house elves have whipped cream?" _What about that?"

Remus just stares at him, even though that probably is an adequate response.

"You're an idiot," he says affectionately instead, and Sirius smirks, wrapping an arm around his waist as they reach the kitchens, out of the way of Hufflepuff eyes.

"But I'm your idiot," Sirius replies, asking the house elves for chocolate and treacle tart. Remus smiles.

"Idiot."

* * *

Mary McDonald is not a particularly organised person, nor is she particularly collected. And she has come to accept that fact, and maybe even like it.

Because organised people rarely have surprises, like realising it's Saturday when you think it's still Friday (along with double History of Magic) or finding that box of chocolates at the bottom of your trunk. Those are the best kinds of surprises.

But also, nobody really _expects _Mary to be organised. So it's quite a surprise when she is.

Lily, of course, likes to think she's organised, but really isn't. She gets flustered about the slightest thing, and yes, Mary can admit to having... _used _that particular trait a time or two.

So Mary isn't at all surprised when Lily doesn't wonder why in the wizarding world her lovely summer straw hat suddenly flies off in an opposite direction, seemingly of its own accord, when there's no wind.

That is just... the Lily-way.

"_Oh, _for Merlin's sake!" Lily cries, and Mary rolls her eyes, already sprinting after her friend.

"Sorry!" She calls to the Hufflepuffs that Lily pushes her way through - for a small girl, she knocks quite a few of them over. One falls particularly hard and Mary stops to heal a scratch on his arm. He smiles up at her, and she salutes him before chasing Lily across the Hogwarts grounds.

Calling a passing greeting to the Whomping Willow, Mary sees Lily stop at a willow tree.

Four boys are sitting, casually like, around the tree, and one is playing with a hat. A lovely summer straw hat.

Bugger.

Mary ungracefully totters over to them, muttering about her ordeal loudly. Lily doesn't pay any attention to her, and Mary doesn't really expect her to.

She calmly registers that the four boys are, in fact, the Marauders, and that Potter is, in fact, in possession of Lily's mother's hat. She looks up at the sky, possibly for guidance, or possibly praying for a large rock of some kind to fall on Potter's head. Or maybe Lily's.

"It is mine, actually, _Potter, _and I'd _much appreciate _it if you gave it back," Lily tells him, and Mary wonders what she's missed. She mimes hitting her head on the tree anyway.

"It's not your usual style, Evans," Potter replies, looking half-uncomfortable, and half-in-his-element. It's not a good look for him.

"Well, it's not really any of your business, Potter, and I don't really see why you're so interested in my wardrobe, because it just poses quite a few unnecessary and rather revealing questions about-"

"I like it."

Lily stops talking, and Mary almost sighs in bliss. _Silence. _Now that's something she hasn't heard in a while.

"I'm going to the kitchens," Lupin tells them, brushing down his trousers and calmly removing Black's hand from his thigh. Mary scoffs; do they really think they're being secretive? "Do you want to come too, Padfoot?" Obviously.

Black, resembling a puppy ambling after his master, nods, and lets Lupin pull him up. Peter raises his hand to speak, but Lupin waves him off. "Wormtail, don't blow up the willow tree - _again. _Prongs, don't be a prat. We'll see you later."

Lupin mutters something to Black - _hopefully something dirty - _then nods to Potter in that weird, half supportive way that boys do when they think one of their mates has a chance of getting laid.

They're all very odd, the male species.

Mary lifts a hand to wave to Lupin, but Lily blocks it, tugging it back down. She doesn't look at Mary, but she isn't surprised. Lily can be very strange in this move.

Mary usually just hides behind a large piece of furniture.

"Ladies," Black smirks, tilting an imaginary hat to them and following his "friend" probably to the kitchens. Mary wonders if there will be whipped cream. She also wonders why on earth she's fantasizing over Lupin and Black's sex life.

She needs to get out more.

Mary goes to wave again, but Lily just shakes her head. She acquiesces.

"It was my mother's," Lily tells Potter quietly, sitting down beside him. He stops twirling the hat, and Mary raises an eyebrow. Could her plan have worked after all?

"I heard what happened," Potter replies slowly, looking constipated, but Mary thinks it's supposed to be thoughtful. "I'm very sorry."

"No you're not." Mary isn't surprised by this; while Lily is a lovely, absolutely amazing girl, she is also very blunt, and likes to be cynical, on Sundays especially. "Boys like you don't feel sorry for girls like me." She pauses, not looking up from the ground. "Boys like you don't feel sorry."

"Boys like me, huh?" Potter repeats, and he sounds very sad. "My mum died in the holidays. The house was torched, and she didn't... understand what was happening. My dad couldn't save her in time. He's still in St. Mungo's."

"I'm sorry," Lily whispers and Mary nods silently behind them. "I didn't know."

Mary wonders why he told her.

"Dumbledore made me promise to keep it all very hush-hush. All irrelevant now. Besides, I don't mind you knowing."

"Thank you. I won't tell anyone." He nods.

"I won't tell either, if it helps," Mary comments from where she still hovers over them. She doubts that they even realised that her and Peter were there. "Peter, do you want to go back to the common room? I believe you still owe me a chess match, seeing as you so obviously cheated last time."

Peter makes a few protests, smiling, and Mary knows that they're fake, but follows her back to the castle all the same.

"Do you think my plan worked, then? To get them together?" Mary asks him conversationally, slipping her hand into his. Peter smiles warmly at her, blinking against the sunlight and not looking back at the willow tree.

"I do," he agrees. "It's amazing what an easy _Accio _charm will do."

Mary laughs. There's no dashing hero here - not James, not Remus, and not Peter, though he's secretly _her _hero - and no adventure. Just love, and a hat lost in the wind.

But maybe love is an adventure in itself.


End file.
